


Shut Up and Hold Me

by theinksplotch



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Fluff, Halloween Costumes, M/M, One Shot, Pennywise isnt real because im gay and i said so, Pining Richie Tozier, Richie Tozier is Whipped, They're like 13, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, halloween fic, soft soft soft!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2019-07-20 13:31:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16138265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theinksplotch/pseuds/theinksplotch
Summary: Richie Tozier didn’t understand half the thoughts rollin’ around inside his 13-year-old brain.Least of all the ones about Eddie Kaspbrak.(aka, Let Richie Tozier Be Soft)(aka aka this is a Halloween fic because I wanted Eddie to wear a straw hat and overalls)





	Shut Up and Hold Me

 

Every year, the Losers Club went trick-or-treating on Halloween, and _every_ year it was running around in _fear_ \- not fear of monsters and witches, but fear of Henry Bowers and his gang. It always seemed he was around every corner, ready to egg the shit out of you and run off with your hard-earned candy. Frankly, Richie just didn't feel like loosin' another pair of glasses to the bottom of Belch's ratty old work boots.

So, the Losers Club decided on doing something different this year. 

It was easy, really - trick-or-treat early, make it back to the safety of Mike's before sunset hit.

That's when the _real_ fun would start. Scary stories and roasting marshmallows and sleeping in tents for the night? - it was gonna be _bitchin'_.

The seven of them sat crowded in a circle in Mike’s backyard, clutching their half empty bags of candy tightly to their chests. The only light came from the makeshift fire they’d started - a campfire, the yellow and orange flames burned just tall enough to keep the darkness that surrounded them at bay. It was quiet too, trick-or-treaters gone home, porch lights flipped off for the night - not even the crickets dared to make a sound. Big Bill’s voice was the only thing puncturing the thick slab of silence. He stood before them, the light of the fire casting ominous shadows across his face. He’d pulled off the remains of his homemade knight costume, - typical Big Bill, always had to be the fuckin' hero, _even for Halloween_ , Richie thinks with an eye roll - the silver spray painted cardboard lay in a pile at his feet. Richie’s own Michael Myers mask had been shoved into his pillowcase with the candy, along with his fake blood-covered Styrofoam knife. He briefly considered stuffing another handful of candy corn into his mouth, but decided against it, opting to save the rest for a rainy day.

Bill’s story was about a flesh-eating clown or somethin' like that. It was probably terrifying- Bill was good at coming up with scary shit like that, but Richie couldn’t really focus, not with the warm boy dressed up like a scarecrow pressed into his side, face buried in Richie’s shoulder and big floppy straw hat scratching uncomfortably at Richie's cheeks and nose. 

_Jeez._

Richie Tozier didn’t understand __half_ _ the thoughts rollin’ around inside his 13-year-old brain _._

 _Least of all_ the ones about Eddie Kaspbrak. 

The kid had been whining in his ear and tattling on him since the first grade! He hated _every_ nickname Richie gave him, he always smelled like fuckin’ _hand sanitizer_ , and he’d cried so hard at Nightmare on Elm Street, that he had the entire Losers Club booted out of the theater! He was the polar opposite of anyone Richie would ever even consider liking. 

But Richie guessed he didn’t really get to choose who he liked, now did he? 

He wasn’t stupid - he knew a crush when he saw one, especially if that particular crush grinned with a wide, gap-toothed smile and pudgy, sun-freckled cheeks that Richie wanted to _kiss, kiss, kiss!_  

Whether he liked it or not, he was sweet on the kid, the tooth-rottin’ kind of sweet - the kind that made Richie ache somewhere in his chest when he heard those old songs on the radio about love.  

And _fuck_ all of that _God hates the queers_ nonsense, because there was no way in heaven or hell that the way Richie Tozier felt about Eddie could be wrong. Because Eddie was soft and sweet and actually kinda funny if Richie was being completely honest. And sometimes, the kid would look up at him and call the big ugly mess of freckles on Richie's face _stars_ , and it made Richie so _warm_ inside the hallow of his chest, he thought he might burn a fuckin' hole right through the front his T-shirt. 

But Richie _knew_ he was screwed, knew it wherever his friend’s soft fingers grazed his - small hand warm against his own as they walk home after long days at The Barrens and Richie's skin would nearly catch fire - like even his own body was just _aching_ to be near him _,_ knew it when he saw the way Eddie looked at Bill, like he’d do anything for him.

He wished Eddie would look at _him_ like that.  

Richie hadn’t even realized Bill’s story was over until the silence hit him, the boy’s last words hanging in the air heavily, making chills go down Richie's spine. He almost wished he'd been fully listening.

The Losers clapped for a red-faced, smiling Bill. Bev wolf-whistled, tossing her pointed witch's hat at his feet like it was a rose. She sat hand-in-hand with Ben, who'd decided on dressing up as Donatello from TMNT. "Damn, Billy. You really know how to dish ' em out! Nearly had me pissing my pants when It ate that guy's armpit!"

Eddie pressed his face harder into Richie's shoulder, shaking and soft and _scared_.  

 _Hold his hand! Kiss his face! Tell him you're sweet on him, fuckface!_    

“Hey Eds, can you smell your mom’s perfume on me?” he said instead, poking the boy playfully in the baby pudge of his side.

Eddie pushed away from him, his face pale and lips set in a pout. "Your _annoying_ is showing, Trashmouth," he spat, rolling his eyes, although Richie could hear the slight shake in his voice. "Can we _please_ do something else now?" he begged, eyes pleading to the rest of the Losers.  

"But Bill has three more stories," Stan said from across the circle. The flames from the campfire blocked most of his skinny frame, and from where Richie sat, he looked like a bird that had been lit on fire in his feathery blue-jay costume _(nerd)._ "He wrote them especially for tonight."

"Yeah, Eddie. It's not like they're real, anyways," Bev added, smiling. "Plus, you're sharing a tent with Mike tonight. He'll protect ya! - isn't that right, Mr. Jackson?" She grinned at the boy next to her. Mike blushed modestly in his bright orange MJ costume, shooting Eddie a smile that made Richie's chest hurt. "There's nothing to worry about, man," he said, not unkindly, and everyone agreed.  

Everyone except Richie. For once he was quiet, eyes glued to the dirty rubber parts of his sneakers.

Eddie stood up and looked at him, big brown eyes wide in a silent plea. He wanted Richie to back him up, Richie _knew_ he hated being disagreed with, _knew_ Eddie was already freaked out enough as it was after having heard just _one_ story, nevermind fuckin' four of 'em.

But everyone was watching.

“Come on, Eds. Don’t be such a baby,” he reached out to pinch the smaller boy's cheek, and Eddie slapped his hand away. “Shut it, A-hole! I’m serious!”  _God_ , he looked so fucking lame in his patched up overalls with straw bursting out of their pockets and the bright red fannypack he wore to match strapped around his waist and Richie wanted to _reach out and grab his hand more than anything_.

“Oh, did you guys hear that? He’s serious,” Richie rolled his eyes. “Serious as an asthma attack, I bet.” 

Sometimes, Richie’s mouth sped 300 times faster than his brain. 

Because he knew about the things Eddie's mom did, knew about the lies and the pills, knew how much Eddie _hated_ himself for believing her for so long.

But Richie just liked screwing things up, didn't he? It was what he fucking did best, _wasn't it_?

He watched the annoyance on Eddie’s face shift into something different, something like shock and hurt and anger and G _od,_ Richie wished he could just manage to _shut the fuck up_ for once. 

 _Hey, here’s somethin’ the kid you’re practically in love with is_ super _sensitive about! Why don’t you make fun of it, ya fucking walnut!_  

“Eddie - ” 

“Don’t talk to me, Richie,” he said, voice shaking. “Don’t you ever talk to me _again_.” 

He stormed off, that dorky straw hat bobbing angrily as he ducked into one of the four tents that the Losers had pitched.  

Richie turned back to the rest of the Losers, wanting to _disappear_ - hating the collective disappointment in his friends' eyes. "Gee wiz," he said with a forced laugh, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. "The hell's got his overalls in a twist, amiright?"

Bev looked at him with sad eyes. "Richie..."

"What?" he asked defensively - _beep beep Rich. Beep fuckin' beep!_

Stan heaved a sigh, sounding very much like Richie's own mother did when he'd come home with bruised cheeks and broken glasses. "You better go apologize, Trashmouth," he said sternly, feathers ruffling. "You know he's not ready to joke about that stuff, yet."

"But what if," Richie cleared his throat nervously. "What if he doesn't forgive me?"

Mike sighed. "Richie, of course he'll forgive you, because..." He seemed like he was trying to figure out whether he should finish the rest of his sentence or not.

"Because he's Eddie," Ben said kindly. "And you're Richie."

 _What's that supposed to mean?_ Richie thinks, even though something in him knows _exactly_ what Ben is insinuating, and it makes his cheeks burn and his skin tingle.

Richie rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. I get it, _losers_. I'll go say I'm sorry to the kid."

Because he couldn't stand the thought of making Eddie sad.

Because something about the look that had flashed in his eyes, made Richie want to stab himself in the chest with his Styrofoam knife.

But Richie didn't say any of that.

He simply saluted his friends, like a soldier going off to war, and marched over to the furthest of the tents lined up along the dull wooden panels of Mike's parents haybarn.

He ducked his head into the tent. He could see Eddie huddled in the far corner, patch covered knees tucked under his chin. "Knock knock," Richie said, and he wanted nothing more than to melt into the floor and become a stupid, bale of hay - Anything but Richie Tozier, sticky with fake blood and melted candy corn and _guilt_.

Eddie sighed, rolling his eyes.  

“I thought I told you to never talk to me again.” 

Richie thought about telling a joke, doing an impression maybe – _That's not what your mom said last night when I was speaking French in between her -_

“But I miss you," he said quietly, and he hadn't meant for it to sound so _real_ , jesus _fuck_. But he _hated_ it when Eddie was mad at him – not the cute pouty mad, either. The real mad, the kind that seemed to sink right into Richie's skin, _itchy itchy itchy._  

"I'm sorry," he said, stupidly.

Eddie finally met his eyes, heaving another long sigh. “Come ‘ere.” 

Richie frowned. “You gonna hit me or somethin’?” 

Eddie rolled his eyes. “No, idiot, I want…” he sighed, curling up into himself. “I want you to hold me.” 

“H-hold you?” That ache was back, soft and slow to build up Richie’s chest. _You're Mine_ by Ritchie Valens seemed to play on a loop right in the back of his head, drifting from the speakers of his mother's portable radio while she cleaned.

He could see Eddie pouting in the darkness of the tent. “Yes, _dummy_. I want you to hold me,” he deadpanned, voice soft and hesitant. “Please,” he added.  

That was all it took before Richie was scrambling over to the boy, warm all over.  

“Now don’t think I forgive you or anything,” Eddie said before he could wrap his arms around him. “I’m still mad at you. I'm just… _cold_.” 

“Right right right,” Richie said, fingers twitching nervously in his lap. He sat across from Eddie now, their knees knocking together. “I totally get it. I mean, it gets cold sometimes, especially during October, you know when its colder out because of the -” 

“Richie?” Eddie asked. 

“Yeah?” 

“Shut up and hold me.” 

"O-okay."

They lay down, facing each other. Richie made the first move and pulled the smaller boy into his embrace - effectively knocking off his straw hat in the process - and burying his face in the smooth curls just above the back of Eddie’s neck. He wrapped his arms around his friend's torso and threw a lanky leg over his waist before he realized Eddie was in fact a person, and not one of Richie's pillows. “’M I suffocating you?” he asked, nosing through the curls out of pure instinct. Eddie's hair smelled good, not like hand sanitizer at all - like something sweet and familiar that Richie couldn't place.

“No,” he felt Eddie shiver next to him, felt small fingers grip the fabric of his costume like they _needed_ to know he was really there.

"Bill's story really scared you, huh?" He asked softly. 

"Yeah," Eddie sighed, warm breath hitting the sensitive skin of Richie's neck, flushing his freckled face a brighter red than the fake blood on his costume. "It just felt...so _real_. I couldn't stop imagining that stupid clown...its teeth. I kept seeing it eating me, eating you guys and I..."his voice cracked and he took a shuddering breath. "Look, I get that you think I'm just a big pussy and...and I _know_ that, alright? Just...." The boy looked up at him, eyes wide with fear and nervousness. 

" _Please_ don't leave me."  

"I-" Richie tightened his grip on the small boy, warm and soft in his arms. He supposed Mike would just have to bunk with another Loser tonight, because there was no way he was going anywhere. "I won't _ever_ leave you, Eddie. _Ever."_

Eddie sighed sweetly, tucking his face back into the crook of Richie's neck.

Richie chuckled, rubbing circles into Eddie's back as the boy drifted off to sleep. "Night night, sleep tight, don't let the evil clowns bite," he said, because it was the only thing he could manage to do to calm his heartbeat.

"Fuck off," was the small boy's muffled reply, although he didn't seem entirely mad. 

Richie opened his mouth, then closed it again, nervous and warm. "You know I don't really think you're a baby, right?" he whispered into sweet-smelling curls, 'cause he felt like needed to. "You're pretty brave, Spaghettiman. Brave in the shit that matters - standing up to your old lady about those fake pills, and that one time you took a hit for me, 'cause you didn't want Henry to break my new glasses..." 

"Maybe I _wanna_ be your baby," was Eddie's sleepy reply.

"H-huh?" 

Eddie lifted his head up, eye blinking up at him, like he just realized what he said. "I..." he said, and then he _kissed_ Richie right on his mouth. It didn't last more than a second, but it was warm and sweet and _sleepy_ , and Eddie's lips left a lingering taste of Milky Way on the taller boy's mouth. 

"Thank you," he whispered, eyes falling closed as he buried his face in Richie's chest and drifted off to sleep.  

For the first time since _birth_ probably, Richie Tozier was _speechless._ He touched his lips with his free hand, still completely buzzing and alive with _Eddie Eddie Eddie_! 

Richie's dad was always saying kids didn't know _fuck-all_ about love.  

Lying in a dark tent on Halloween night, candy corn on his tongue and _sweet_ chocolate on his lips, cradling the boy that made love songs _mean_ something, Richie Tozier, age thirteen, thought maybe he was wrong about that.  

"No problem," he whispered, his mind drifting to the far away place, eyes closing - with the warmth of a campfire burning in his chest and the weight of Eddie Kaspbrak's kiss on his lips. 

_Yep. Best Halloween ever._

 

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to tell me how you liked or hated this in the comments!  
> [my tumblr](http://nasally-voice.tumblr.com/) !!!  
> :)


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